


Hotdog

by burgerheadjones



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Hotdog and Bughead, I am so here for Bughead in NYC, Miscarriage, NYC!Bughead, bughead - Freeform, future!Bughead, hotdog dies, life with hotdog, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-06 01:00:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11025252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burgerheadjones/pseuds/burgerheadjones
Summary: “Easy, Hotdog! He's family.”How Hotdog becomes Betty and Jughead's family in every sense.Or, where we trace the life of Hotdog with Bughead.





	Hotdog

“ _Easy, Hotdog! He's family._ ” He really was, in every way.

 

* * *

 

“Maybe we need a break.”

Betty Cooper says this in the trailer, five months after Jason Blossom’s killer was revealed. Five months after Jughead Jones joins the Southside Serpents. Four months since Riverdale’s civil war started. Three months since it was deemed unsafe to cross the jagged boundary that separated the rich from the poor, the upper classes from the gangsters. Two months since Betty betrayed her side by joining his.Two weeks since Fred Andrew’s assaulter was revealed, and one week since the civil war came to an end.

And now, Betty and Jughead, despite going through everything they had,were treading tumultuous waters.

“Betty.” Jughead says, jaw clenched. He sees them mirroring a situation that happened months ago- standing in the hallway of Riverdale High, him blaming her for keeping Alice Cooper’s true intentions at the Homecoming dinner secret, when it wasn’t entirely her fault.

This time, it was her mom, and the sudden revelation that Alice Cooper had been a Serpent.

“I didn’t know.” He says, trying to pour all the earnesty in his voice.

“Really? Jughead? Not even when Venom told me he kept dropping hints at you?”

“Since when do you trust the word of Venom over mine? So what if he was dropping hints, I _obviously_ didn’t get it!”

Hotdog sits at their feet, not enjoying this exchange at all. He periodically howls, but neither Betty nor Jughead pay him any attention.

They continue arguing. When Jughead think about this later, it’s going to be about something that can be solved so easily, but now, being upset does nothing but cloud judgement.

“Well, fine!” Jughead finally shouts. “Let’s take a break, then! You can leave, leave the southside, _just like your mother did_ all those years ago!”

He can see Betty visibly recoil. Hotdog howls, again.

Soon, steel takes over Betty’s eyes, and she grabs all her stuff. “I’ll be good riddance, then.” She spits out.

Jughead realises the harshness of what he’s just said. “Shit, Betty, I’m sorry-”  
“No.” Betty says. “Goodbye, _Jug-Head.”_ She says it in such a way that it holds no emotion, not like the million times she’s said it before. Nothing but a sense of finality laces her voice, and before he knows, he’s left facing a shut door.

He sits down right where he is, and puts his head in his hands, wondering how such a nice evening could go to complete shit. They’ve had plenty of arguments before, but each time, _they always made up._

This was nothing but a break-up.

‘Betty and Jughead’ wouldn’t be a thing anymore, she wouldn’t be part of his life, not when they live and go to schools across town.

He can feel warm and moist saliva on his knuckles, and when he looks up, it’s Hotdog licking him. He can almost hear what the canine is saying- ‘It’ll be okay,’ but suddenly there are tears-his face gets even wetter and Jughead doesn’t know how he’ll survive.

Hotdog pries Jughead’s hands apart with his furry nose, and looks Jughead in the eye. _You will survive._

 ~

When Betty shows up at Jughead’s foster family’s door four days later, it is Hotdog who barks in happiness the most.

 

* * *

 

 

 It's Hotdog who finds him.

He's buried under at least five feet of snow, leg broken and who knows what else, and he's almost on the verge of passing out.

His attacker’s earring is clenched in Jughead's hand- it's bloody, as a result of being literally ripped out of his ear, and Jughead has to fight not to throw up. But he's trembling, and so, so, numb, so his fists will not uncurl. The earring might be piercing his skin, but Jughead thinks this is a good thing because it will help him find his assaulter.

He can't cry out- because snow is everywhere, his vision is just and endless sea of white, a white that is so blinding he keeps his eyes shut for the most part. He’s aware that the primary cause of death in his situation is asphyxiation, but when he fell, he dug out a pocket of snow before it settled like concrete- but eventually, he’ll run out of air. He won’t be able to muster up the energy to dig out another one, not when the snow has settled.

He's thankful that his Serpent Jacket is on- the leather acts as a tiny means of protection against the encroaching numbness.

His breathing becomes laboured, the pain in his leg reduces, thanks to the snow he's buried in, but his eyes are slowly sliding shut, which is the worst thing.

He fights to stay conscious.

He's mentally slapping himself, because who told him to travel to Greendale alone in January? On only a motorcycle, no less- a bike that currently lies hidden in a bush, or something.

That bastard _had_ to push him off a two-storey cliff. And with Jughead's luck, he'd brought down at least a cartful of snow with him.

And here he is, about forty five minutes away from Riverdale, hidden underneath layers of snow. This is going to be his end, there's absolutely no hope. He's been here for about twenty to thirty minutes- although his brain can't tell.

Suddenly, a slideshow is playing in front of him, amidst all the white- he sees Archie, Veronica, Kevin, sitting beside him. He sees Jellybean smile at him on Skype, his father attempt a hug through prison bars, his foster mother waking him up to a breakfast of pancakes. His father, Fred Andrews, and Archie sitting across him, a campfire in between. He sees Ricky and Sabrina make faces at him across the classroom, Hotdog licking his face, and Jughead realises he has so much to live for. But the brightest reason is the beautiful halo of Golden light that occupies his thoughts for a majority of his waking hours.

He thinks of Betty, the Goddess that always lured him back from the darkness. He's going to die, and she'll be devastated- they've loved each other for over a year now, and Jughead can't imagine being with anyone else. She's his salvation- the reason why he's still alive today, but now, it looks like that won't be the case anymore. Their last words to each other are those of an old, married couple- “I love you,” and “Be careful,” but Jughead has disobeyed the love of his life.

Jughead's always feared death- many a times he lies awake, on nights that offer no sleep, and thinks about how he’ll die. Dying of old age is never usually an option, but Jughead doesn't expect to go out so soon. He has a legacy to build- a novel to be published, and hopefully many more, and a life to build with a certain girl he's head over heels in love with.

He's never really faced death and looked him in the eyes, before. During his homeless days, he would sometimes shiver in the never-ending rain and wonder if that would be his end, but Jughead's in a life-death situation now. The odds are _not_ in his favour.

He wonders what song they'll play at his funeral.

Jughead realises that he's stopped shivering- which, going by the books he's read, is the opposite of good. But sleep is _right there_ , and if he shuts his eyes for a minute...

A dog's bark wakes him up, and some semblance of hope creeps inside him, but his eyelids aren't opening, the bright light on the insides of his lids is fading, and he succumbs to the pull that is taking him backwards. This time, there's no Betty to pull him back from the darkness that is now enveloping him.

 ~

He wakes up what seems like an eternity later, but apparently, it's only minutes- instead of white, he sees grey, dotted with blue, and suddenly, there's gold and pink and red. His cheek is hot and wet- exposed to Hotdog’s infamous tongue.

He can't move, and his eyes widen- he's in some form of shock, and he's so cold.

“Jughead!”

Betty's hands are on his cheek, and his view of the sky is blocked by something much better- but his eyes can only dart around, his mouth can't form words, and black is creeping around the edge of his vision again.

Archie appears in his line of vision, panting, covered in snow, and Jughead wonders if the redhead dug him out.

“The ambulance is coming, you're okay, you're okay,” Betty says, and Hotdog licks his cheek in affirmation. “Hotdog here found you- he was the one who sensed something was wrong.”

He sees tears streak her face, and he wants to hold his hand up and wipe them away, but he can't. He offers her the slightest nod of his head, and it takes so much effort to muster, but Betty's happy to see a reaction.

He closes his eyes again, but not before moving his fingers so slightly that they're touching Hotdog's paw.

 ~

He wakes up again, and this time, he's on a stretcher. The ambulance has arrived.

He can hear barking, a lot of barking, and a sluggish glance to the side reveals Betty right beside him, Hotdog in her arms, and Archie behind them both.

The paramedics are undressing him, getting rid of the snow-soaked clothes that will only serve to hinder his recovery. There’s a brief second where he’s wearing nothing but his boxers, and all this skin is being exposed to the benumbing winter air, but that second passes and he’s being wrapped in an electric blanket that heats him to his very core. He hears words like ‘Stage Two Hypothermia’ and ‘Rewarming him’ thrown about by the paramedics, and he can feel his leg being splinted.

Hotdog barks when he sees Jughead looking at him, and Jughead smiles softly before he closes his eyes again and falls back into the void.

 ~

For the last time, (He’s getting fed up), he swims back into consciousness. Instead of the freezing snow, he’s in the comfort of warm blankets- but this doesn’t quite feel like home- he has a cannula in his nose, and the tell-tale periodic beeping gives him a clue as to where he is.

He opens his eyes to Betty sitting by his bedside, Hotdog in her lap. His girlfriend is asleep.

The furry notices his conscious state immediately, and with a bark, he jumps onto the bed- carefully avoiding the cast-confined leg that rests on a pillow.

Hotdog licks his face, wagging his tail so hard that it hits Betty, who also arises from her slumber.

“Hi,” She smiles, once she gains her bearings.

He holds out one hand and holds hers, while the other hugs Hotdog.

“Thanks, bud.”

 

* * *

 

“Can I open my eyes yet?”

“No.”

Jughead can feel Hotdog’s tail thumping against his jean leg. The problem with walking with your eyes closed, is that you don’t want to step on any floor-lurking creature, and when it’s a dog as rambunctious as Hotdog, Jughead fears betraying his dog’s trust and stepping on his tail or something.

Betty Cooper seemed to have a surprise up her sleeve, it seemed, because Jughead still has no clue what she plans on showing him. The new microwave, maybe?

Ideas of her dressed in nothing but his leather jacket excite him, but he shoves _that_ mental image down. It’s the middle of the day and Hotdog _is right there._

It gets weird when he interrupts Betty and Jughead’s sexytimes.

But Jughead narrowly avoids bumping into the kitchen counter, and is plonked on a stool by his girlfriend. Expectations of the shiny new kitchen appliance become higher, and, if he’s being honest, Jughead can appreciate anything related to the kitchen.

“Okay, open.” Betty says, and he does. Instead of seeing the Avanti Premium Countertop Microwave sitting in front of him, he sees a book.

Not just any book, _his_ book.

His eyes widen and Betty’s smile is as bright as the Sun that is lighting up the street outside. It’s his book, the very first hardcover he’s seen with his own eyes, and he’s almost afraid to touch it. This has been his dream for years, now, and to see its physical culmination right _in front_ of him... it takes a while for him to process everything.

His blue eyes meet Betty’s, and his hand reaches out to feel the book for the first time.

He can’t, though, because in one flying leap, Hotdog has taken the book hostage, holding it in a death grip between his jaws, and then runs away.

“Hotdog- no!” Betty yelps, running forward with her hands outstretched. She looks at Jughead. “I was supposed to return that to Mr. Baltimore- that’s literally the only sample!”

Jughead can’t help but let out a laugh. Betty glances at him, annoyed, and he puts on his serious face. “Okay, let’s split up. I take the bedroom, you take the living room, and we’ll corner him.”  
They jump into action, Jughead arming himself with a bone to distract him and Betty with a handful of dog biscuits.

Jughead finds him in the first place he looks- on the windowseat, gnawing Mr. Baltimore’s beloved copy of 'The Anatomy of a Murder’.

“Betty, backup needed!” He says, carefully approaching him, bone held out in front of him. “How about a nice, juicy bone instead, huh, Hotdog?”

The dog in question looks up, stares Jughead in the eye and resumes his fruitless activity.

Betty arrives at his side. “Okay, you go to the left, I'll go to the right- we'll do a quick exchange- you hand him the bone and I'll swipe the book.” Betty says, ditching the dog treats and tightening her ponytail. “Game on.”

No plan of Betty Cooper's ever fails, and this one was no exception- with one, swift motion, the exchange happens and instead of the book, Hotdog is chewing the bone, getting more enthusiastic by the minute.

Betty and Jughead high five, and simultaneously look at the book in her hands. The spine is intact, but Hotdog has chewed a hole in the pages.

“Perhaps Mr. Baltimore won't notice?” 

 

* * *

 

 

It's a fall evening- the prettiest time of the year, Jughead thinks, as he walks holding Betty's hand with his right and Hotdog's leash with his left.

They're in Central Park, a place where they try to visit as often as possible. When the trees are soft orange and brilliant red, one can't help but be attracted to this area of New York.

This walk is a special one, though. It's going to be a milestone in their relationship, he knows, as he thinks of the box lying hidden in his pocket.

He intends to pop the question once they reach their reading spot- it's one of his favourite places in Central Park- occupying the top spot thanks to none other that the blonde walking hand in hand with him.

Nothing in his life goes as planned, but _every_ part of him wants this to.

An idea strikes him- a bit too late, he thinks- but it can be implemented. All he needs is Hotdog and good luck.

He snuggles closer to Betty for warmth, watching as Hotdog sniffs around in some bushes. Betty offers him a small kiss on the cheek, and her hand jokingly ruffles the back of his now-beanieless hair.

He grins at her, completely smitten, and he would not have his life any other way.

Soon, they reach the Oak tree they used to study under when they were in NYU, read under the shade it offered during summer months, and held impromptu picnics.

It's time to do it, and Jughead's heart starts pounding. What if she says no?

_She won't say no, Jughead, shut your hole._

Hopefully she won't.

The _perfect_ opportunity arrives when Betty is distracted by a bed of flowers that Jughead would never be able to name, and while her back is turned, he crouches down in front of Hotdog and places the box in between his teeth.

“For once, don't chew on this, alright?” He whispers, standing up hurriedly when he sees Betty doing the same out of his peripheral vision.

Of course things don't go as planned. They never do, do they?

Putting the box between the sheepdog’s jaws seems to have activated a switch, because at that very second Hotdog pulls hard against his leash, taking Jug by surprise, who lets it go.

And Hotdog is off, running at the speed of light, towards the oak tree.

“Fuck.” Jughead says, running after the canine, Betty joining him a second later.

“It's okay, he'll be back,” Betty says. “As long as we keep an eye on him.”

Jughead doesn't know how to tell her.

“You know that black thing in his mouth?” Jughead pants, wishing he was a faster runner, “Let's just say it's pretty important.”

Maybe Betty gets it, maybe she doesn't, but she nods her head and takes off at the speed of lightening- all those 6 AM runs did her good.

She jumps over tree roots and rocks, with Jughead following not far behind. Eventually, Hotdog wants to return to the tree, and takes a sharp U-Turn, running right into Betty.

“Hey, boy,” She pants, prying his mouth open and extracting the black box. Realization sparks in her eyes and she turns around to look at Jughead, who's caught up.

 _Maybe this isn't the worst thing,_ he thinks.

He gets down on one knee, rustling many leaves in the process, and takes the saliva-soaked box from Betty's hands.

Hotdog has sat himself down, watching Betty and Jughead with a wagging tail.

“Betty Cooper,” He begins, and tears are glistening in Betty's eyes. She's smiling, which is a good sign.

“Betty... You are the sun- your brightness has lifted me from my endless shadows. You are the moon- the prettiest thing in the  night sky. You're the stars that I gaze at everyday, the supernovas that fill me with awe, the meteor showers that never fail to take me by surprise, and you are the comets- you're rare, you're one of a kind, and there's never a day when I get up and don't look forward to being with you.”

Betty brings her hands up to her mouth.

“Betty Cooper, most importantly, you are _my universe_ , and the only thing I want is to be able to make you happy. So,” He says, opening the box to reveal a platinum band with black diamonds adorning a pearl in the center, (which he asked Veronica to help choose) “Will you marry me?”

Betty is nodding before he even completes his sentence, removing her hands from her mouth to throw them around a still-crouching Jughead. “Yes, yes, yes, I love you so much,” She says, wiping away tears and holding out her ring finger so that he can put the ring on.

Hotdog runs circles around them, over-the-moon.

* * *

 

 Betty is making dinner in the kitchen while Jughead writes away on his laptop from the counter, Hotdog perched on the stool next to him and head on Jughead’s lap. It’s a Wednesday evening, like any other, but the only thing that differs is the baby he knows is growing in his wife’s stomach.

Occasionally, the thought of someone he will have created with Betty brings a wide, silly grin onto his face, which is so not great at professional meetings, but oh-so-great when he’s in the same room with his wife.

He breathes in the smell of tomato soup, one of those silly grins plastered onto his face, and after sharing a loving glance with Betty, he resumes his typing.

He’s going to be a father. A father. He’s going to have to be responsible for a tiny human being, one that he will have helped bring into this world. Hell, it’s been only six weeks since the baby was conceived, and three since they found out, but he still shivers with excitement every time his mind wanders.

“Jug, have you paid the electricity bill?” Betty asks, kneading some pasta dough.

“I did that last week, Betts, don’t worry.” He says, gently shifting Hotdog’s head so that it sits on the stool and gets up, making his way to his wife. “That smells amazing.”

He hugs her from behind, letting his fingertips trace her collarbone, eliciting a soft moan from Betty. “I love you, Betts, you know that, right?”

She turns around, ladle in hand and deposits some now-lukewarm soup on Jughead’s nose.

“Hey!” he laughs, swatting her hand away- but their moment is interrupted when Hotdog starts barking.

“Is someone at the door?” Betty asks. “We didn’t buzz anyone in.”

But Hotdog isn’t moving towards the door, he’s moving towards Betty, and more specifically, her tummy.

Jughead switches the gas off, he doesn’t want anyone getting hurt.

“Hey, bud, what’s the matter?”

Hotdog responds by pawing at Betty’s stomach, and her eyes widen. “What if it’s the baby?”

Jughead’s eyebrows crinkle in worry. “What should we do?”

Betty tells him to call her OB/GYN, which he does.

“Hi, Dr. Baker, could we come over? Our dog thinks something’s out of the ordinary,” He asks, and when he receives an ‘okay’ in response, he nods at Betty, who’s stomach is still being pawed at by Hotdog.

They grab their coats, plus a leash for Hotdog, leaving their apartment and waiting for a taxi to arrive. Jughead’s starting to get worried- most dogs, especially Hotdog, are right about these things. He squeezes Betty’s hand.

Suddenly, she gasps and crumples on the spot, hands clamped around her lower stomach, and Hotdog starts barking louder.

“Betty!” He jumps down next to her.

“Call an ambulance,” Betty whispers, tears leaking from the corner of her eyes as she clenches her jaw in pain.

“Call 911!” He shouts, and out of his peripheral vision, he sees a teenager do so- but he’s crouched beside Betty and it’s almost unbearable to watch her go through this kind of pain, and Jughead’s heart is pounding, thudding, threatening to crack his chest, because if Betty isn’t going to be okay...

He’s getting ahead of himself. Of course she is.

Hotdog licks Betty’s cheek, whimpering. Jughead holds her hands tight, stroking her hair and telling her it’ll be okay.

Whatever comes first- the taxi or the ambulance, they’ll get into, but something needs to come fast.

Around him, a small crowd has gathered, and he can hear whispers of “Jughead Jones,” “The Anatomy of a Murder”, and “TIME Magazine correspondent, Elizabeth Cooper”. Some people offer them water, but Betty shakes her head, squeezing Jughead’s hand so hard his knuckles go white.

She’s in so much pain, and he doesn’t know how to stop it.

The ambulance arrives first. Jughead is pulled away from his wife and watches as she’s put onto a stretcher, oxygen mask clamped around her mouth.

He’s allowed to ride in the ambulance with her, but Hotdog has to sit in front. As they swerve in New York’s traffic, Hotdog barks, in addition to the siren, so that people will get out of the way faster.

Jughead, in the back, meets Betty’s eyes as she gazes at him through the, half-lidded thanks to both the pain and the medication they’ve given her.

“Be strong, Betty Cooper,” He tells her, before she passes out.

 ~

Jughead and Hotdog leap up when a grey-haired doctor approaches them in the waiting room. “Betty Cooper-Jones?” He asks him, and Jughead nods.

“How is she?”

“Mr. Jones, I’m afraid to tell you,” he says, and Jughead can’t possibly prepare for the worst, because the worst is terrifying. “We lost the baby.”

Something hollow had planted itself inside Jughead’s heart from the very moment Hotdog had leapt up in their kitchen, but now, the hollowness expands.

“And my wife?” He asks, voice shaking, because he _needs to know._

The doctor nods. “She pulled through. She’ll be fine, but she’ll be mentally scarred from this ordeal, Mr. Jones.”

He shakily nods, just relieved that his Betty is alright, she’ll be okay. He’ll do everything in his capabilities to help her.

“She’s in the ICU right now, you can go see her two hours later.” The doctor says, ending the short conversation and leaving the room.

Jughead wants to go see her now, immediately, but that isn’t within his powers. So, he slouches back into his seat, followed by Hotdog, who sits on him, and grieves for the tragedy that has struck them.

Veronica and Archie find Jughead and Hotdog half an hour later, with him asleep, tear tracks running down his face, and Hotdog, who tries to lick them away.

 

* * *

 

 

Jughead shoves his keys and opens the door to the New York apartment he, Betty and Hotdog share- and now, there were going to be joined by one tiny addition. Felicity Jones.

Betty Cooper was still at the hospital, staying over that night with their baby after a few minor complications had occurred during childbirth. That wasn't to say Jughead wasn't worried- he was always worried for his family.

He originally had plans of staying with Betty and Felicity, but Hotdog couldn't stay alone, so Jughead came back.

He is a bit taken aback at the lack of response from their furry canine, who's usually always active- especially around his master. Maybe less so, as old age approached, but he was _always_ at the door when Jughead arrived.

“Hotdog?” He calls out, dumping his keys in a ceramic bowl and switching the hall lights on. Before rushing to the hospital with his wife, he'd made sure Hotdog would be comfortable for the next eight hours, with Archie as as a backup check.

He enters the living room, where Hotdog's bed was situated, (not that the canine _ever_ actually slept there, preferring the couple's bed, instead) but came across an empty room.

He checks the kitchen, as well, and their bedroom, but it was their nursery that he finds him in.

Hotdog is lying next to the crib, paw on a green pillow that had been left on the floor.

“Hey, bud,” Jughead says, crouching down and scratching the fur under Hotdog's ear.

The dog merely whines, softly, lying there unmoving- not even his tail was wagging.

“Cat got your tongue?” Jughead gets down and folds his legs in a criss-cross.

He offers a half-hearted tail thump.

Jughead knows something is wrong; he's not blind to the concept of aging, and he knows Hotdog’s prime was going to come to an end very soon, but nothing will ever prepare him for this moment. He knows what a dying dog looks like.

Jughead picks his phone up- his lockscreen is a picture of the three of them- Hotdog is jumping at the camera, while Betty and Jughead laugh in the background.

He calls their vet. His assumptions are correct. “It's too late for euthanasia,” The vet says, and Jughead nods, hand caressing Hotdog's ear.

He cuts the call and immediately dials the next.

“Hey, Jug,” Betty says after picking up, still exhausted after the Herculean task she just had to perform.

His throat now has lumps in it- he sees Hotdog in this half-paralyzed state and, combined with the heaviness in his heart, he finds that he can't speak.

“Jug?” A concerned voice asks, but Jughead shakes his head, tears forming.

“Hotdog- he's going.” He manages, and a tear escapes when he hears Betty's audible sigh.

“Can I speak to him?” Betty asks, and Jughead complies, holding the phone next to Hotdog’s ear.

He can’t hear what Betty says, but he knows it’s a goodbye.

When she’s done, he whispers a quick ‘I love you’ to her.

He thinks about every time Hotdog has brought joy to his life- from the moment he entered the trailer on that rainy day to now- when both Betty and Jughead are at the highlight of their careers, in their late twenties, and now starting a family.

Truth be told, he already had one.

Jughead traces his hand up and down Hotdog’s spine, and his vision is clouded because he can’t imagine a future without, in many ways, his best friend.

Because, who else will chew up shoes and beanies and _makeup brushes,_ and make enemies on his very first day in NYC? Who else was going to gnaw at the first hard-cover book of Jughead’s first novel, which he still kept, chewed edges and all, to this day? Who else was going to keep their feet warm in the chilly winters?

Who else would be featured on Betty Cooper’s Instagram every week? Who would try and lap up Jughead’s coffee but spit it out moments later? And volunteer to eat pizza crusts, of which Betty didn’t like? Who could possibly go on walking dates with Archie’s dog, Vegas?

They had an entire wall of pictures to put up, and never once had it occurred that Hotdog would not be featured on them.

Hotdog’s breathing is laboured, and Jughead doesn’t think he can wag his tail anymore, but continues petting him, offering as much comfort as he can so Hotdog can cross the threshold in peace.

If it weren’t for Hotdog, Jughead Jones would not have been alive today. He thinks of all those years ago, when he was seventeen, when it was the sheepdog that helped find him, buried under layers of snow. It was Hotdog that stayed by his side when Betty and Jughead broke-up, and even though the couple’s time apart lasted all of four days, it was Hotdog that gave Jughead hope during those terrible times.

It was Hotdog that walked down the aisle with all the bridesmaids and groomsmen on their wedding day. It was Hotdog that warned Betty and Jughead that something was wrong during Betty’s first pregnancy, and it was also him that offered them comfort, in his own Hotdog way, when they came home, sans baby, but with grief-stricken faces.

Jughead wipes away a tear and caresses the sheepdog’s face with both his hands, and brings his face near him.

“Thank you for everything, Hotdog. I love you, bud.”

Hotdog offers a small whimper in reply, gingerly licking Jugheads nose.

Jughead maneuvers himself so that he’s lying parallel to the sheepdog, ensuring that paw is in hand. With one last check to see if he’s comfortable, Jughead pulls up another pillow and rests his head on it- he’s going to sleep next to Hotdog one last time.

He shuts his eyes, painfully aware of the wheezy breathing across him, but eventually, both of them fall asleep.

Only one will wake up.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry for being that person who writes about dogs dying, I cried while writing the last part.


End file.
